


Pickle

by datalaur



Series: Deus ex Machina [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst and Porn, Consensual, Dom/sub, Drunk Sex, Filthy, First Time, Gay Bar, Kinks, M/M, POV Original Character, Porn, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25106638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/datalaur/pseuds/datalaur
Summary: Set in 2370.  Bruce Maddox looks for a way to get over his inappropriate obsession with a certain sentient android.
Relationships: Bruce Maddox/Original Male Character(s), OMC/OMC
Series: Deus ex Machina [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595050





	Pickle

**Author's Note:**

> _People are like pickles  
>  They come sour, they come sweet  
> I like to take a bite  
> from every pickle that I meet  
>   
> It's like I get hungry  
> when I look in their eyes  
> Searching for some secret  
> beneath their disguise  
> _
> 
> \- Deborah Pardes, [Pickle](https://youtu.be/AVnPhmZA_Hs)

Tuesday's never very busy, so I don't mind tending bar solo while Aaric's off with his latest redhead. It's a bit of a joke among the _Throb_ staff: there are no redheads on my lover's homeworld, so Aaric starts drooling whenever he sees someone so exotic. We both enjoy his sexual forays, redheaded and otherwise, and with Aaric's looks and skills, it's good for business too. Word gets around, and you can't even buy that kind of advertising.

Mixing drinks and scanning credchips with practiced ease, I watch the regulars, locals, and tourists size each other up. I want to be sure no one's getting left out for too long. Most nights I'd have five or six servers to help mind the flow, but tonight it's only Darry and big Keef, and they've got to focus more on the tables than the sound-shielded dance floor.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a new arrival coming towards the bar. No one I recognize, so I look a little closer. I always like to get a good handle on a new customer. They tend to tip a lot better when they get our famous personalized attention.

Nothing special in the looks department. Posture's odd, kind of stiff. Almost formal. Early forties, I'd say, a little old for our crowd, but tall-and-dark's in good enough shape to make it work. Rather conservatively dressed, with the shirt knotting not quite right. Definitely a tourist.

The new meat catches me eyeing him, and his icy glare is startling. Then it all adds up -- the prim posture, the short hair, the ridiculously pointy sideburns...

Starfleet. An officer too, or I'll eat replicated food for a month.

_Shit._

I keep an eye on Starfleet while I mix up another round of costly drinks for Tanner, Herroux and their latest heavychip tourist. I figure it's ten minutes, fifteen tops, before rich-boy's taking it fore and aft and loving every second. 

Starfleet makes his way to the far end of the polished wood bar, taking the seat nearest the wall, well away from anyone else. He runs an unexpectedly disinterested gaze over the small crowd, before turning to study the antique decanters on display behind the bar. 

Odd. I haven't heard of a starship stopping by our system in years. Not Starfleet; when they want shore leave, they go to someplace wholesome like Risa. Not that we don't have scenic mountains and beaches and plenty of uninhibited young hets out for a good time, but Nalben has a reputation for catering to everyone else, especially those with diverse tastes. And even if by chance a starship stopped here, I'd expect the crew to head right for the clubs nearest the starport, where they could get booze, plenty of legal drugs, a quick hetfuck, or all three, and still stagger back to the ship on time for their next shift.

Leastways, that's what I did when I was partnerless. Of course I had to get my team settled before I could sneak off to the kind of club I needed. The kind that Starfleet couldn't legally put off-limits, but nonetheless didn't quite approve of. I frown at the memory, but then a beep from the order console distracts me.

Pulling down the appropriate glassware from the overhead racks, I get the drinks ready and signal Darry. The tall blond twitches his head towards my right in the code for 'unhappy customer', then gives a smartass grin at having taken a point off me.

I glance over; Starfleet's got his arms crossed tight and a frown on those sharp, arrogant features. Oho, looks like someone's used to getting what he wants, right when he wants it. No surprise there. Officers never like waiting because of some underling, even if said underling is busy as hell.

As I walk over, I can't help but wonder again what a starship's doing insystem. Shit, I hope those fucking Romulans aren't stirring up trouble again; we're too damn close to the Neutral Zone if that crap starts up. I'm not stupid enough to ask this officer -- I'd just earn myself a visit from ship's security staff, and I spent enough time in the brig in my younger days, thank you very much.

"Sorry for the delay," I say pleasantly and slide the evening's padd towards Starfleet. "Here's our list of beverages, food, and sexual services. Start with a drink before you go downstairs? Something to eat?"

Starfleet looks at the padd and starts, "I'll have--" Then his mouth falls open.

I suppress a smirk. Even given that we only offer human dick, _Throb_ caters to an extremely wide variety of samer tastes. Everything strictly legal, of course. The staff are well-paid professionals, all willing adults, though we can provide those who seem neither. Given Starfleet's expression, I'd lay a month's credits that he's not here for anything exotic, but all of the staff have worked too long for me to take that sort of bet. Pity.

"Uh... I'll start with... synthale," says Starfleet, putting the padd down hastily.

"Sorry. We don't serve anything synthetic or replicated. Club policy."

"Um... Altair water?"

Water? As a starter? I start adding things up as I go to get his drink. Four years of professional sexwork and eight plus of tending bar have given me pretty damn good instincts. 

Setting the bottle and a chilled glass in front of Starfleet, I look him in the eye. "First time," I say, hesitating long enough to see those blue eyes go space-cold, "on Nalben?"

Starfleet tries for a smile, but his tension's palpable. "Oh. Yes. First time here."

 _Okay_ , I think. No starship. No Romulans. Just him. Just a skittish virgin who's traveled at least half a sector to find someplace he can feel safe, so he won't have to make excuses why someone saw him going into a men's sex club. I can empathize with the fear, even if I can't begin to fathom how a man gets to Starfleet's age without having figured out what kind of fucking he needs. 

At any rate, Starfleet gets my real smile this time. Stars know, I always did love corrupting a fellow fleeter. Breaching an officer's hull, though...

Oh, yeah. My dick likes that idea, all right.

"I'm sure you'll find someone to your taste," I say. Though Starfleet's trying to hide the fact that he's not sure of that at all, it doesn't fool me. "If you want, I could make a few suggestions."

"No, thank you."

"All right," I say, and gesture to draw his gaze to the tables and dancefloor. "Just let me know if you don't see what you're looking for up here. Any of the staff downstairs would be happy to pleasure you."

"Thanks," Starfleet says, not looking at me. He grips his water glass like it's his lifeline. "The hotel said this place has a reputation for... " He doesn't quite know how to finish and takes a gulp of water instead. 

"Making sure our customers leave satisfied? Yes, we do. Another club policy," I chuckle.

Starfleet looks up at that, and I get a hint of a real smile. Damn. He's kind of cute when he eases up.

Leaning over the bar for a closer look, I check him out from head to toe. He's skinny, nowhere near as muscular as I prefer, but he's definitely fuckable. 

When Starfleet finally interprets my expression, he looks away, all flustered like he's never had a man blatantly check him out before. Then I realize he probably hasn't, because he's infleet, so I decide to wait the reaction out. Finally Starfleet looks at me again, and nervously rakes his fingers through his hair. His uncertain smile is adorable.

"So are you going to stick with the Altair, or try something stronger?" 

"I, uh... I think I better stick with the water."

"Whatever you want, and I do mean, _whatever_ you want," I tease, embarrassing Starfleet horribly. Very cute.

 _Too bad it's only the Altair_ , I think while I mix drinks. Starfleet's alternating between looking and deliberately-not-looking at anyone. On edge like he is, he'll need to get good and drunk, not to mention careful handling, before he lets anyone get in close. My dick twitches at the thought of just what I'd do to him, if I got in close enough.

Keef stops by for his orders. "You're making Darry's night, you know."

"Yeah, well, tell Darry to fuck off and mind his tables. Last I saw, he was next to bottom in points." I grin at the big man to take the sting out of the criticism, before sliding open the window to the kitchen.

"Crap customer, huh?" Keef tips his head at the far end of the bar, where Starfleet is turning his glass of water around and around, staring into it like it might hold some answers if he just looks hard enough.

"I prefer to think of him as a professional challenge."

"Yeah, one that's going to lose you ten points, according to Darry."

"Darry doesn't need to worry his pretty little head about that." I arrange the food and drinks on the big tray, making sure the load's properly balanced. "I've never lost ten yet, so you might mention to him that if he's the low point loser this month, his sweet ass is mine."

That earns me one of Keef's deep, rolling laughs; usually Emil or Yusuf (or as he prefers to be called, Dungeon Lord) will deal out the punishment while the rest of us watch and make snide comments. It's a hell of a good time, and if it didn't inherently mean being low on tips, more than a few of the boys would lose on purpose.

I pretend to be insulted by the laughter. "You think I can't come up with something Darry'll hate to love? So very mistaken."

"You know, I just might have some suggestions," Keef says, an evil glint in his eye. He's been off and on with Darry for months now. Darry can't make up his mind.

"Neh, that would be cheating, and where's the fun in that?" I gesture at the waiting tray. "Get your gorgeous ass moving before I take a point off you."

A couple more orders come in. I skim the ticket and pull glasses and ingredients, while the back of my mind wonders just what Aaric has gotten up to with that burly redhead of his. I decide to take the half-minute to run my eyes over the personnel and medsensor schematic. Customers coded green, staff blue, potential problems red -- there Aaric is, down in the dungeon. He's never cared for anything more than light play, so I'm more intrigued than worried. On top of the safe word sensors, I know that Dungeon Lord will keep an extra close eye on my Aaric. He will make certain that my lover likes the way Mr. Redhead plays.

Things get busier over the next hour or so, with a unusually large late crowd showing up. I don't have much time to chat with anyone, but I make sure to keep watch on Starfleet. He's worked himself up to meeting someone, given the hopeful way he eyes some of the men passing nearby. Just as obviously, Starfleet's in completely alien territory. Evidently attending snooty officer parties didn't prepare him to deal with an environment like this.

I watch his face fall as yet another attempt at conversation fails. Even if I don't get to give him a thorough fucking, I'm going to have to make damn sure someone does, or Starfleet's going to crawl back to his model-officer Starfleet life, and probably never have the nerve to try to break free again. I've seen too many people twist themselves up, trying to fit into the fleet mold, to want that to happen to my scared little officer.

"Listen," I start, while refilling his water, and then think again. I need to ease Starfleet into reality. "What's your name?"

"B--" He hesitates that fraction of a second that advertises the coming lie in big blinking letters. "Brett."

I shouldn't; honestly, I _know_ I shouldn't but as usual, I just can't resist. "Well, hello there, Buh-Brett."

"Fine. It's Bruce." He's annoyed, all right, but with himself rather than me.

"I'm Marc," I say, and stick out my hand. He shakes it, but doesn't look any happier. I really ought to take a point off myself, but instead say, "Brett, Bruce, it really doesn't matter. Nobody here sncares who you are or where you're from. Really. So who do you want to be tonight?"

"Bruce, I suppose," he says grudgingly. 

"All right, then. Bruce, can I tell you something?"

"What?"

"You're never going to get laid, acting like this."

Starfleet -- I mean, Bruce -- hovers somewhere between cold fury and humiliation for a long moment, before biting out, "That's really none of your business. Is it. Marc."

"That's where you're wrong," I reply evenly. "It is most definitely my business. In fact, the single most important part of my job is making sure every customer leaves _Throb_ satisfied."

I let him absorb that for a few seconds. "Bruce, we both know you wouldn't be in a club like this if you didn't want some dick. So why not let me help you get it?"

His silence is close enough to a yes for me. "For starters, sit closer to the action or no one is going to think you're serious about playing. Next, focus on the older men, say over thirty. The younger ones aren't usually interested in those of us who've been around for a while, unless they want a daddy, and you don't strike me as a daddy."

He nods slowly. 

"The other thing is..." I try to figure out a way to say it tactfully, but then give up. "You're a turnoff because you're too tense. You really need something to help you loosen up."

I glance over my shoulder. Daryl's waiting, and so is Keef. Both of them are grinning. "Listen, I've got other customers waiting. I'll be back soon."

Of course those two start razzing me the second I get back to my station. I can't really argue the loss of two points. Even if Starfleet is a tough customer, others were kept waiting.

I get right on the orders, flying through each as quickly as I can, and it's a few minutes before I get a chance to look for Bruce. For a moment, I think he must have lost his nerve and taken off, but then I see him threading his way back from the men's.

Waving Bruce towards me, I ask some customers if they mind shifting over a seat in exchange for a free round. They're happy to agree and by the time Bruce makes his way over, a seat near to the pickup station is waiting just for him.

I flash him a smile, since I won't have time for anything else until I clear the rest of the drink and food orders. Once I've got the free round taken care of, and the top racks reloaded with glassware, I have a minute for my nervous little officer.

"Hey, there. How you doing, baby?"

Bruce snorts, all annoyance again. "Don't call me that."

"Okay, how you doing, Bruce?" He shrugs and I ask, "Been thinking about what I said?"

"Yes, but--" He stops, and avoids meeting my eyes. "I don't want my judgment impaired."

"Hm. Well, given that we need to lower your inhibitions, some cognitive effect is unavoidable. But I can do my best to minimize it," I offer, and he nods reluctantly. My mind's racing as I try to come up with something to impress him. Something easy on the alcohol but with a heavy dose of relaxants and pleasurants to drop those shields.

Then I have it. After checking out a few chemical interactions, I use the computer to design a mod that'll do what I want. I'll have to get into the lower shelves and pull out a few of the rarer ingredients, along with a special glass and the precise measuring gear. It'll cost, but I figure if Bruce came all this way for a fuck, he's not going to bitch about some credits.

So far, so good. I bite my lip in concentration as I gingerly drip the precise amount of red Slilexaer essence down the side of the glass. I sigh with relief: the drink stays clear. Picking it up with extreme care, I place it in front of Bruce.

Moment of truth.

I flick a fingernail sharply against the thin rim, and with a _ping_ , the drink shimmers into a green and reddish-orange swirl. Behind me, Darry claps me on the back. I glance over my shoulder, and wink when I realize he's grabbing a few orders to help me out.

Bruce is entranced by the slow swirl in his glass. "What is it?" he breathes, head tilting to look at it from the side.

"That's a Bruce's Special Samarian Sunset," I say proudly. Fuck knows, Sunsets are touchy enough even with the original recipe. "Invented just for you. Easy on the alcohol, heavy on the fun."

Bruce looks up from examining the drink and gives me that cute genuine smile. I laugh when he wants to know the precise chemical process involved. He's so full of questions that he's forgotten to be nervous. Not that I would ever have taken him for command track, but the reaction shows he's a yellow or blueshirt.

"You're missing the point," I tease. "You're supposed to drink it, not analyze it."

"In a sec." He's back to examining the gently swirling contents, smelling it, then touching a fingertip to the liquid and tasting. It's just killing him that he doesn't have a tricorder. Blueshirt, then; engineers love a puzzle just as much as the scientists, but engineers have their priorities straight, especially when it comes to drinking and fucking.

I clear my throat. "You're welcome."

He looks up. "Sorry, Marc. This is amazing. Thank you so much. For everything." He takes a sip. "Wow. This is really delicious. Thanks."

"Every customer satisfied. Club policy." I give a short bow and then a mock-leering wink, making Bruce flush with embarrassment again. He's mine for the taking and he doesn't even know it, which makes it all the sweeter.

I glance back at the pickup station. Keef's there, tapping an impatient thumb against his wrist: time to stop flirting and start making credits.

"I've got to get back to work now," I tell Bruce. "Enjoy."

The backlog's a madhouse again, and I curse Aaric under my breath for taking so long. Yet I know that's hardly fair; Tuesday's almost never this heavy and I know he can't help the way his dick reacts when there's a redhead around. He's covered for me, the times I've gone to play with a customer. It's just bad timing that things aren't working out for me tonight.

Bruce has nearly finished his Sunset, and it's had the intended effect. That overly formal posture has eased, and he's leaning back against the bar, openly eyeing some of the men. A few are starting to look back. I just know someone else is going to get my officer's sweet smile and virgin ass.

Damn it all.

"Marco, what's wrong?" Darry asks, as we load up his tray with a big order. The worry in those big brown eyes just makes me madder.

"Nothing. Take your stuff and go."

Keef's next trip, he's got something to say too. "Business first, Marc. Club policy."

"Fuck you! Who do you think wrote that policy?" I turn my back to swipe the credchips before throwing them on his tray. They scatter. I curse, straighten them, and load up the food. When I turn back with the tray and start loading the drinks, Keef just looks at me.

Dammit, he's right. I'm completely out of spec. I take a couple deep breaths to recalibrate. Right. Starfleet's just one customer out of many. If he wants to play with someone else, that's his decision. 

"Thanks, Keef. Business first."

"Business first," he agrees.

Focusing on the job makes it easier, and I don't make eye contact with Starfleet when his drink's gone. "Same thing?"

He's blissing already. "Sure."

While I'm putting together the Sunrise, I decide that first I'll give him a straight shot of pleasurant. My policy for first timers has always been to make sure they enjoy it enough to keep coming back for more, so I'd better keep Starfleet fully stoked with drugs. Unless he gets smart and decides to hire one of our professionals, he's going to need all the help he can get.

Starfleet trusts me enough that when I hand him the shot glass, he puts it away without asking. I bring over his clear Sunrise, and step back, gesturing for him to do the honors. 

He pings the drink into a burst of swirling color, and I return his delighted grin and thanks with my impersonal business smile. He looks like he'd like to talk more, but I just smile and take his credchip over for a swipe.

Getting to the busiest time of the night now. Closing's in an hour and a half; customers are thinking about getting their final fuck or suck lined up. When it gets late like this, the guys who don't want to pay for the services of a pro sexworker are looking over the remaining free meat, even if it doesn't quite fit their preferences. 

When a fairly hot young tourist starts checking out Starfleet, I tell myself that I'm glad that my point-problem is solved. But the tourist evidently decides he can do better, and moves on.

Everyone's feeling the time pressure now, and like most of the other unpaired men, Starfleet's been scanning back and forth across the room. He's looking for I-don't-know-what, but when Starfleet seems to have locked eyes with someone, I follow his gaze.

Jacek Trenal. Damn.

Good-looking, tight body, sure. But he's got the big bad "I'm the dom and you'll do what I say" attitude, without first having done the work to earn the trust. I'd be very surprised if Starfleet isn't submissive, but it'll take a lot more patience than Jacek has to get him in the mindset. Worse, Jacek's got a temper that doesn't sit well with me. But business is business, and nowhere does club policy say that I have to like my customers. 

Oh, fucking hell. Jacek's heading over.

Catching Starfleet's attention, I mutter quickly, "Don't. He likes, um... bloodsport."

"What?"

"Knives."

Starfleet blanches.

"Hey," Jacek says, sliding in smoothly next to Starfleet, who's studiously examining his glass, shields back up to full strength. 

Jacek doesn't like being ignored. He takes Starfleet's chin in hand and forces him to look up. "I said, hey. I think it's time someone put you on your knees where you belong."

"Uh... no, thank you," is all Starfleet can manage.

"You'll like it, slut, and you know it." A possessive hand slides up Starfleet's thigh.

"Really, no." Starfleet's leaning away from him, spooked by the aggressiveness.

Policy says it's time for a club employee to step in. "Jace, he said no. Twice. So lay off," I warn.

Ignoring me, Jacek snarls, "What do you mean, no? Then what the fuck are you here for, you stupid fuck?"

"Back off." Now Starfleet's on his feet, glaring.

"Oh yeah? What's a gapehole like you going to do about it?" Jacek shoves his shoulder, hard.

Starfleet shoves back, and as short as I am, I lunge over the counter, just managing to grab Jacek's shirt sleeve. I'm sure Starfleet's hand-to-hand training will make any fight a short one, but I really don't want things to get that far. " _Lay off_ , Jacek. I mean it."

His anger redirects to me, as intended, and it's time for the carrot. He and his friends are regular customers who spend the kind of money we can't afford to lose, not without a damn good reason. "Come on, Jace. I'll have Darry bring you something special. On the house. All right?"

His eyes slide from me to Starfleet, and I can see he's too drunk and full of himself to let it go. I scan for backup; Keef's coming as quick as he can, but the late-night crowd's slowing him down.

"Jace, honey, forget this one. He's had some bad experiences and doesn't like to be rushed." I think quickly. "You want a fuck, what about Keven? You know you're his favorite. He was just talking about how good you were yesterday." I can see he's considering it. "Darry will bring you your drink and let you know when Kev's ready. Okay?"

"Okay," Jacek grouses, turning away, but not before giving Starfleet a disgusted look.

"Go on, sit down," I tell Starfleet, who's still furious. "Cool off."

Big Keef's here. "Problem?"

"Jacek got ugly about the nix," I mutter, still steaming. I make the decision. "Second offense. Keef, take Jacek aside after he comes back upstairs and make sure he understands this is his last chance. Be nice, be polite, but make it clear that it can't happen again."

"You got it, boss." He looks down at Starfleet, who's still standing, pumped up with adrenaline and glaring in Jacek's direction. Keef lifts an eyebrow, silently asking me what I want done.

"Leave him," I indicate with a head jerk.

Keef shrugs and goes back to his tables.

"St--" I catch myself in time. "Bruce, it's over. Sit down." Starfleet turns that icy glare on me until I soften my words with, "Please, Bruce. Please?"

When he finally sits, I add, "Sorry about Jace. He can be a real asswipe sometimes."

"I noticed that."

"You won't have that problem again. Promise."

He doesn't say anything, but I keep an eye out while I comm downstairs and tell Dungeon Lord about Keven and the lie. I know Kev likes how well Jacek tips, but he's just another customer to him. 

As I'm reloading glassware, I notice Starfleet's turning the half-empty Sunset glass in his hands. Crap. Brooding again.

I put together a powerful mood enhancer, and slide the small glass of blue liquid in front of Starfleet. "Here. Try this instead. Little sips."

He takes a cautious taste. "Pretty good. What is it?"

"Skylift. It'll take the stress away." I lean forward, close enough to make the conversation a little more private. "It's getting late. You know, you don't have to find someone up here. There are guys downstairs who'll be very happy to do anything you like."

"No. That's not what I want."

"Bruce--"

"Marc. Fuck off. All right?"

Obviously I should have made it a double Sky.

I back off, and while I fill orders, I turn over options in my mind. With the sexworkers nixed, Starfleet's running out of time and options.

"Hey, lover," Aaric says in my ear. He sounds hoarse and insufferably smug.

I twist in his arms and look up. Ohoho, so very pleased with himself, my beautiful tall Aaric. He lowers his swollen lips to mine.

"Mmmmm, baby, you taste like come," I tease, then stand on my tiptoes and stick my tongue back in for more. When we finally break for air, I grab his balls and tell him, "I want all the dirty details later, slut."

He laughs and squeezes me tight in his big, muscular arms. "Think about this, Sir. Too many to count in my mouth, and nine loads in my ass." He laughs again at the growl I can't quite suppress at the mental image of a roomful of men lining up to do my greedy slut. "I knew you'd like that."

"Like it? I should bend you over and fuck your sloppy ass right in front of the whole bar." I can only imagine how good sliding in his dripping hole would feel.

"I'd love you to, but I'm really sore. Sorry, love," Aaric says, and I knows he means it. After I've let another man use what's mine, there's absolutely nothing Aaric likes better than to be licked clean, fucked, and then licked some more. "I just played too long. And yes, Dungeon Lord offered me regen, but I wanted to feel it for a while."

He gives me a wicked grin, then bends down to whisper in my ear. "Tomorrow, Sir, you should tie me up and make me tell you what all those bad men forced your slut to do, while you sit on my big, hard dick and jerk off onto my face."

Just when I think I can't possibly love Aaric any more, he goes and says something incredible like that. I'm devouring his dirty mouth when something hits my arm: a crumpled napkin, maybe.

"For fuck's sake, give it a rest," Darry bitches. "I'd like to know, where the hell's my order?"

I pull away from my lover and put my hands on my hips in mock pique. "Aaric, you slag, in case you haven't noticed, we're trying to run a business here! Now get to work, no-load!"

"Aye, aye, cap'n, sir," Aaric sniggers, as he slides past me to check the order screen.

"Ohohoho, and that's another point off for impertinence, mister. Want to try for three?" I swat him on the asscheek for good measure.

"Ow, Marc, don't!" Alaric yelps, and jolts of pleasure shoot through my dick as I think of the possible reasons. If he actually let another man leave marks on his ass, all bets are off. He'll have to beg me to use his mouth instead of his come-filled hole tonight.

I pull him down for a quick, hard kiss. Behind him, Darry's laughing so hard that I think he might fall over. Keef's on his way in to see what all the fun's about, or to gripe about an order. Probably both.

Then I remember Starfleet. He's staring at the men out on the dancefloor, kissing and fondling each other, with the kind of gloomy resignation that tells me he's given up, even with the Sky mostly gone.

Darry notices too. "Ten points," he crows, "that's gonna be ten points, Marc."

Looking up from the drink he's mixing, Aaric says, "What are you talking--" He sees what when Darry jerks his head towards Starfleet. "Ouch. That doesn't look good."

"Thanks, I hadn't noticed," I say sarcastically. "Your fucking fault for distracting me when I'm trying to work. And you guys seal it," I toss over my shoulder at the two servers, which just makes them snicker all the more.

"Down?" my lover suggests in shorthand. 

"Uh uh. Shakedown run, too."

"Oooh, that's a challenge." Alaric finishes the Arcturian Fizzes and pushes them towards Keef. "Marc, you want to do this prosecco? On two. Dresci. Coco-nono on two."

"Got it." He's giving me the easiest drinks so I can focus on finding a match for Starfleet. I look over the crowd, but most look like they've already had their fill and are just winding down over drinks. Of what's left, I wouldn't want any of them for a first timer.

I'm still mulling over the options when I hear my lover say, "Hi there, I'm Aaric. I understand we aren't doing a very good job for you. What's your name?" He's taking joint responsibility for the customer and any future point loss, the nitnoid.

"Uh, hello, I'm Bruce," says Starfleet, shooting me a nervous sidelong look.

"Can you tell me what you're looking for, Bruce? Because if we know what you want, we can see if anyone here matches, and find out if they'd like to play with you."

The backlog's cleared and things have slowed down, so while Starfleet hems and haws, I catch Aaric's eye and take the chance to go pee. By the time I get back from that and a quick tour of the club, Aaric's charisma and more Skylift has Starfleet nodding and smiling. I watch the two talking as I fill an order, and then it hits me.

Aaric's here. 

I walk over and shake an arm around my tall, beefy lover's waist. "Hey, baby."

"Told you not to call me that," Starfleet -- no, shift him back to Bruce -- says, irritably, but there's no real bite in his voice.

Alaric looks at me in surprise, but I signal for quiet with a tiny headshake.

"So, Bruce, you see anyone interesting?" I scan the crowd. The regulars who aren't quite done for the night are paying increased attention to us now, because they know anyone we're still trying to pair off is free fuckhole served up on a platter.

Nudging a reluctant Bruce, Aaric says, "He likes Anton and Marius. Go on, smile at them."

"Aaric," I say in a disapproving tone, "are you out of your mind?"

They both turn to look at me, Aaric with a what-the-fuck? expression, because those two guys will do just about anything Aaric wants in exchange for some quality time with the most talented mouth onplanet. 

Aaric says carefully, "What do you mean, Marc?"

"Those two? Really? You must not know that Anton's got a dick the size of my little finger." I hold it up to make my point. "That's if he even gets it up. And Marius, sure, he's a great fuck... if you like burning hot wax dripped all over your dick."

Alaric looks at me like he's sure I've finally cracked. I just grin at my lover, and idly rub a spot just in front of my ear.

Bruce opens and closes his mouth several times, before getting out, "Uh... not them."

"Well, then, what about Omar?" I wave; he waves back.

"He looks... sort of... nice," Bruce says doubtfully. 

"Oh, wait a minute. Is he the one with the piss and shit fetish, Aaric?"

"No, no, Marc, he's the one with the diapers. Geoff's the one who likes scat and showers." Aaric winks at me, that clever man of mine.

Bruce just shudders and Aaric pats him on the shoulder. "We'll keep looking, sweetie, I just know there's someone here that's right for you. Oh, Marc, can you take that order?"

"Of course." I take the few steps to the console, and listen in while I review the ticket and start gathering the necessities. 

"Oooh, what about Ellery?" Aaric asks with excitement. "You don't mind being strangled, do you? Just for a minute or two when he's getting ready to come?"

Bruce's horrified expression says very clearly that he does mind.

"Don't worry, don't worry... oh, Brycen! He's cute!"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing really, just-- well, that cock and ball torture thing. You know. And I have heard that he likes having animals watch."

Bruce shakes his head vehemently. "No. No. No."

"Oh, but what's wrong, honey?" How Aaric can look so innocent would be unbelievable, if I hadn't known him for years and seen him use it more than a few times to get out of trouble. 

Daryl's cycled in for pickup; the confusion on his face is priceless. Big Keef's just behind him.

"People. Let me make this perfectly clear," Bruce says, in the stern, uncompromising Officer voice that Aaric and I remember all too well. "There will be no blood. There will be no strangling -- on second thought, make that no pain and no torture of any kind whatsoever. No piss. No shit. And definitely no animals. Is that understood?" He glares at each of us in turn.

Satisfied that he's made his point, Bruce throws back the rest of his drink. He slams down the glass and again we all get treated to the Officer glare. "You know, this place is just unbelievable. Doesn't anyone here have normal sex?"

"Not me, I'm a total perv," says Darry with a huge grin.

Keef puts an arm around his sometimes-lover. "I'm with him, sorry."

Aaric has his hand covering his mouth, in what passes pretty well for a thoughtful pose. No way will he get out a word without totally losing it.

"Some of us like the basics, sure," I say, using the passthrough to get on the same side of the bar as Bruce. With him sitting down, I'm the taller one. "So you want, what? Fucked in the mouth, or in your ass? Both?"

"I-- hey! Maybe _I_ want to fuck somebody!" He's still annoyed with everything and everybody.

Even though seeing him in officer mode reminds me of an old fantasy, I have to smile. "Bruce, reality check. If you weren't such a submissive, you'd have stuck your dick in someone hours ago." Lowering my voice to a sexy growl, I give him the look to match. "I think you came here to get fucked, Bruce, to get used by another man until you come all over yourself."

"Close your mouth, honey," Aaric advises, leaning over Bruce's shoulder, "unless you want Marc to shove his dick in it, right here in front of all of us."

Bruce doesn't even notice him; he and I are eye-locked. Damned if those blue eyes don't do fuck-me- _please_ just as well as they did arrogant-bastard.

"Come on, then," I say.

Bruce rises slowly to his feet like he can't believe it's going to happen. I grab his shoulder to pull him down for a kiss, but he holds back.

"Marc, I... you're not just..." 

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Darry gripes, "would you just take your man and go get fucked already?" He bangs his empty tray on the counter a few times. "'Cause some of us still need to earn some tips tonight."

"I'll hurry with everything," Aaric promises them, already turning to the order console. Then he looks over his shoulder at me. "Marc, it's late. I think you'd better go up." When I raise my eyebrows -- we've never taken a customer into our own bed before -- he says, "So you'll have plenty of time."

"Thanks," I say, and give him a kiss. The rooms downstairs close an hour after the bar, and that's not going to give me enough time for a skittish guy like Bruce. 

I tug at Bruce's arm. "Let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nathalie / DataToy, my wonder twin.


End file.
